I used to complain bitterly about my height. “If I had only been tall, horseback riding would have been different for me…,” “If I were taller, I wouldn’t be getting smacked in the head with field hockey sticks….”
We used to hang out in the literary arts magazine office. The people were welcoming and no one hit you in the head with anything (well, except maybe wadded up paper). One day my friend came in and started pinning up pictures from magazines. Lanky models all over walls. Somehow, they looked strangely off. I looked again. He had photocopied a picture of my face and stuck it onto each model.
“They are SO weird looking!” I exclaimed.
“See, Mary, you just weren’t meant to be tall.”
With a simple act of pre-photo shopping, my friend put me on the road to self-acceptance.